Call Myself A Mother
by thebeautifulbadass
Summary: Liz struggles with her unexpected news and confides in Samar. Post-3x11, Lizvabi. Disclaimed, as usual. Title inspired by "Mothers" by Daughter.


Liz couldn't sleep.

It had been hours since the doctor had left her bedside. In fact, he'd even been back to check on her once. She was doped up on pain meds, but apparently not enough to make her brain shut the hell up.

She was pregnant. _Pregnant_.

Tom's. It had to be Tom's. She hadn't been with anyone else recently. She'd been pregnant all those weeks, a fugitive on the run, and she hadn't even known. She'd been a little too busy to pay attention to her period, or rather, lack of one. And after it was all over, she assumed her exhaustion was warranted, explained away by stress, not _pregnancy_.

She didn't _want_ to have Tom's baby. She _didn't_. There was a part of her that was still attached to the man she'd been married to, but deep down she knew that man didn't exist. She didn't love him, she just…wanted him. He was still the same man she'd made love to for years. Their physical connection had always been real. _That_ part of him she knew.

So she'd slept with him twice, amidst the chaos of her life falling apart. A fun way to blow off some steam with a familiar body, familiar hands, someone who knew exactly what she liked.

But that didn't mean she loved him. That didn't mean she wanted to marry him. And that _definitely_ didn't mean she wanted to have a baby with him.

She wanted to be a mother. But not _now_. And not like _this_.

She wanted to curl up on her side, ribs be damned, and cry until the sun came up, but she felt numb, like there were no tears hiding anywhere inside her. She didn't know what to feel, _how_ to feel, as if she'd forgotten human emotions and was now on some sort of alien planet where nothing made sense.

But any moment in which she could stop herself from thinking about the pregnancy, all she could think about was that man in the parking lot, his hatred, his rage, the horrendous force behind his foot every time it crashed into her body, again and again and again. She'd been able to feel it when each rib cracked, the excruciating pain that had radiated through every inch of her, until finally, _finally_ , after she'd been lying on the asphalt for long, long minutes, drifting in and out of shock, she'd managed to gather enough strength to inch her arm into her pocket, fumbling for her cell phone.

She didn't want to think about that man.

But she didn't want to think about being pregnant either.

And those were, unfortunately, the only two thoughts warring for dominance in her mind as she laid there, entirely incapable of falling asleep no matter how much she wanted to drift into a haze of glorious medicated unconsciousness.

She felt an odd distance from the world around her, as if her brain were trying to tell her "shh, you don't belong here, come with me," and she couldn't do anything but listen as her thoughts continued on an endless loop of _I'm going to have a baby, Tom's baby, I can't have Tom's baby, that man tonight hated me, the woman with the apartment hated me, everyone hates me, I'm going to have a baby…_

But then someone was rushing around the corner, stopping at the foot of her bed, eyes wild, and in her drugged state, it took her longer than it should have to put together the _I know her_ with the woman's identity.

And then the woman was scurrying around the bed, reaching for Liz's hand, and her brain finally locked the stubborn pieces into place. Even as out of it as she was, Liz was confused. "Samar?" she croaked, her voice rough with disuse.

"Liz."

It was only one word, but it was shaky, breathy, broken.

"How'd you know I was here?" Liz asked drowsily, her eyes drifting shut for a moment, somehow immediately more relaxed now that someone she trusted was holding her hand, grounding her back to humanity, the world.

But Samar didn't answer. Instead, she repeated Liz's name in that same devastated manner, and then, impossibly, she started crying, a single strangled sob escaping her as she reached up with her free hand to muffle the sound, tears slipping down her cheeks.

This only served to confuse Liz even more. She didn't know what to do. She wouldn't have known what to do even if she'd been entirely in possession of all her mental capacities. So…doped up on meds strong enough to dull the pain of her broken ribs? There was absolutely nothing she could think to do other than watch and hesitantly repeat, "Samar?"

Samar pulled herself together enough to form words, clumsily wiping at her cheeks with her sleeves, and met Liz's perplexed gaze with her wide, red-rimmed eyes. And then she said, equal parts firm and vulnerable, her voice cracking, "I just got you back, I can't lose you again."

Again, all Liz felt was bewilderment. Did she have amnesia? Maybe that's why she hadn't known she was pregnant…she'd forgotten, that's all. Was she hallucinating? Maybe she was transforming someone else into Samar in her drug-addled mind, or maybe no one was there at all.

So all she could say was, "Wait. Samar?" hoping that if she repeated her name enough times, the person's true identity would eventually be stated aloud.

Samar – or whoever this person was – stepped closer, running her fingers lightly through Liz's messy, tangled hair. "I know you're out of it right now, but I didn't want you to be alone," she murmured. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Liz, still baffled, nodded as much as she could without causing herself pain. And then Samar's fingers were brushing across her bruised, swollen cheek, and she was leaning over her, and her lips were pressing against the skin of her forehead, and then she heard a whispered, "Go to sleep, Elizabeth."

She could still feel the pressure of Samar's fingers squeezing her own, and suddenly her mind didn't seem so busy and she found herself drifting, drifting, drifting…

TBLTBLTBLTBLTBLTBLTBLTBL

Liz awoke to a burning pain in her side, as if someone were smashing her ribs all over again, and she groaned before she could even open her eyes. But groaning meant exhaling, long and deep, which meant inhaling, longer and deeper, to make up for it, which only made her ribs scream out in agony. Tears stung her eyes and she hissed, shallowly, rapidly, telling herself she couldn't cry, she _couldn't_ – it would only hurt worse if she cried.

And then Samar's worried face appeared above her own and fragments of the night before reappeared in her memory as she heard her coworker's low, soothing voice cutting through the fog of her pain: "Don't panic, it will make it worse. Breathe, just breathe normally, Liz."

So she did, focusing on Samar's coffee-brown eyes – studying the little flecks of light, noticing the length of her eyelashes – while she breathed through the pain, until her inhales and exhales began to steady, each one only causing a twinge, a dull ache.

And then, as she began to come back to herself, as she felt her awareness expanding out to other things, she realized Samar was holding her hand, and she remembered that Samar had been holding her hand the night before when she fell asleep, and she wondered if Samar had been holding her hand the entire time.

This thought, Samar's kindness, this evidence of her caring, only brought the sting of fresh tears to Liz's eyes, and she squeezed them shut, begging herself to stop. But then the loop of unwanted thoughts came back – the pregnancy, Tom, the man who'd attacked her, all the people who hated her – and the tears began to slip out at the corners of her eyes, sliding down her skin. She could feel her swollen face attempting to twist and contort, could feel the tears building in her chest, threatening to screw up her carefully controlled breathing.

Samar's fingers tightened around her hand. "Don't cry, Liz, please. It will only make the pain ten times worse," she implored, a note of frantic anxiety in her voice.

And she knew that, she did. She nodded, swallowing, swallowing, swallowing, until the lump of panic in her throat had dissolved. She opened her eyes, tears slowing but not stopping, and as soon as she saw Samar's face again, the memories from the night before began to sharpen in her mind – Samar frantically rushing in with wild hair and wild eyes, Samar grabbing her hand, Samar saying her name in that heartbreakingly devastating way, Samar _crying_ in front of her, talking to her, touching her hair, her face…

But before she could ask any of the questions she desperately wanted to ask, Samar's thumb stroked back and forth across the back of her hand and she smiled softly and, in that moment, it was enough.

"Liz."

And this time, it didn't sound quite so devastating, quite so broken; this time it was a bit softer, almost reverential.

Liz swallowed down her emotion again and, though her voice was rough, raspy, she managed to speak. "Everyone out there hates me, Samar. Nobody's a stranger anymore. Everyone knows who I am, and they all hate me."

"I don't hate you." Samar's words were instantaneous, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She paused, and then quietly asked, "Is that what happened? Some stranger on the street?" Her gaze flitted over the dark, ugly bruises, the swollen cheeks and lips.

Liz held onto Samar's hand more tightly, nodding. "Parking lot at the hardware store. He called me a traitor, punched me, kicked me. I was just picking up some things for my new apartment. I thought-" She broke off, taking a deep breath and bracing herself through the ache in her ribs. "I thought I would have this new start, this new life," she admitted, rolling her eyes at her own foolishness, "but I was kidding myself. People like me don't get fresh starts."

Samar shook her head, looking utterly forlorn and helpless. "People like you? Liz, you're a _good person_."

"No, no I'm not. You've known that about me ever since the Creel case," she said, admitting the truth that Samar had already suspected.

Samar shook her head again, her eyes determined, her expression firmly set. "You are a good person, Elizabeth. End of story," she insisted. "I know everything you've done, the things you're about to use against yourself. I already know all of them, and I also know that you are a good person."

Though she didn't fully agree with Samar's words, she still appreciated them, but instead of the grateful smile she was going for, her lips twisted and a whimper escaped her and she gripped Samar's hand even more tightly. She felt like she was drowning under the weight of her unreleased sobs. She could feel them growing inside her the longer she held them back. It seemed certain they they would eat away at her organs until she was only a dead shell if she didn't let them out. God, she had to let them out, she _had_ to.

So she did, and with them, the horrible, agonizing, stabbing, aching pain came back with a vengeance, but she couldn't stop, and if she were being honest with herself, she knew the release of her emotions would feel so good it would almost cancel out the pain in her ribs. Samar looked panicked, her hands fluttering helplessly above Liz's body, wanting to touch, to comfort, but not wanting to cause her pain.

"Samar," she gasped through her tears. "Samar, I'm pregnant." The admission, hearing herself say the words out loud, only made her cry harder. She clutched at her side with her free hand in a futile effort to lessen her pain, her eyes shutting involuntarily.

And then she felt the bed dipping slightly beside her hip, and suddenly Samar was everywhere, all around her, leaning over her, her voice in her ear, her arm holding Liz's head close to her own. "Oh, Liz. Elizabeth. Shhhh. You're okay. I'm right here. Shhh."

Liz moved her hand from its useless place next to her ribcage and wrapped her arm around Samar's back, clutching the fabric of her shirt tightly in her fist. "I don't know what to do," she whispered raggedly through her sobs, "I don't know, I don't know-" God, her ribs hurt so badly, she _knew_ they did, but she'd become almost numb to the physical pain, lost in her fear and regret, her loneliness, her alienation, her complete and utter uncertainty about everything in her life.

She could feel Samar's fingers stroking through her hair, slowly, soothing. She kept rambling, trying to explain, unsure if her words were making any sense whatsoever. "I want a child, but I _can't_ -" she wailed, "I can't, not now, not with him, and I just-"

"I know, Liz, I know. Shhh," Samar murmured into her hair, "We'll figure it out, okay? Everything will be fine."

"It won't be fine," Liz cried. She felt like an immature baby, but she couldn't stop herself. "No matter what I decide, nothing will ever be fine again. Nothing _is_ fine. God, I can barely rent an apartment, I can't go to the store… I'm so alone, and the whole world _hates_ me." She tightened her arm's hold on Samar's back.

"You are not alone," Samar stated firmly. "You are never alone, do you hear me?"

Liz heard the words, understood the meaning; Samar was here now, holding her while she broke down – that had to count for something. She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, holding on to Samar so desperately, until the emotions began to gradually ebb away, the pain from her ribs creeping back into her consciousness.

She cried out, hissing in pain, and she could feel Samar stroking her hair again, cradling her head protectively. Her fingers felt so nice, the way they were smoothing, brushing, untangling. It took every ounce of her concentration to get her breathing under control, in and out, in and out, in and out through her nose, ignoring the stabbing ache in her side.

Once it had died down enough for her to think, she began to feel self-conscious, a hint of shame spreading through her body. She was too embarrassed to even _think_ of looking Samar in the eye. She swallowed, loosening the grip of her fist but refusing to let go, not yet. "I'm sorry," she whispered, the words shaking on their way out.

And then she felt Samar's lips against her temple, so briefly, and heard her instantly murmured reply: "You don't need to apologize. How is the rib pain?"

Liz could hear the concern, could practically feel it pouring off of her. She nodded, Samar's hair tickling her cheek. "It's settling down," she told her, her voice even rougher than it had been before.

Then, suddenly, Samar was pulling back, just enough to be able to see her, and she was looking down at her with the gentlest expression on her face, one Liz had never seen before. That look was almost enough to break her all over again. "Thank you," she whispered, reaching for Samar's hand again. "For finding me here, for staying, all of it."

"You're welcome," Samar murmured, and then, quietly: "The baby is okay?" Liz nodded. And then: "Tom's?" Liz nodded again, tears stinging her eyes. When Samar saw her swollen lips begin to wobble, she started stroking her hair again. "Shh, don't cry." She waited a moment, and then, sensing her discomfort, added, "I would never judge you for seeking out his familiarity, Liz."

Liz squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth forming a thin line, and she nodded. "I don't love him." She needed Samar to know that, because it was true. She knew with absolute certainty that it was true.

Samar tightened her grip on Liz's hand. "Would you love this baby? Even though it's his?"

Liz thought for a moment, but found she didn't have to think very hard, the answer coming to her easily – the most obvious answer in the world. "Yes," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Liz, you have time to think about your options. But if you have this baby, it doesn't tie you to Tom. You're not obligated to him in any way," Samar assured her. "And you won't be alone; you have so many people on your side."

Tears filled Liz's eyes again, overflowing, spilling down her cheeks. Her lips trembled and she clutched at Samar's hand so tightly she was afraid she might hurt her. Finally, she managed to admit the bare truth: "I'm scared," she whispered raggedly.

"I know. But _good_ scared?" Samar raised an eyebrow in question.

Liz nodded, her wobbly lips turning up into a tiny hint of a smile.

Samar smiled warmly. "You are the strongest person I know, Elizabeth. Don't doubt yourself."

"Well, thank you, but I don't feel strong. I think the guy who did this to me, effortlessly I might add, would probably disagree too," she replied, gesturing to her disfigured face.

Samar's expression hardened. "That man is a coward," she said, her voice shaking with anger. "And he doesn't know you. He's never seen your strength firsthand, he has only seen misconceptions and lies."

Liz smiled, so grateful for Samar's kindness, her allegiance, her support. Out of nowhere, incongruous with the seriousness of the situation, the thought occurred to her that she must look like a complete mess. Between the crying and the blows that guy had landed to her face, she was fairly certain that she'd be avoiding mirrors for a while. The smile slid away. "How bad is it?" she asked softly. "I, um- I haven't looked. I just know it feels like someone ran over my face with a truck."

Samar swallowed heavily, unable to speak.

"That bad, huh?" Liz joked, attempting a smirk.

"No, no…" Samar hurriedly clarified, shaking her head, her long, thin fingers cradling Liz's jaw, her thumb brushing across her cheek. Liz studied the expression on her face, but before she could figure out what it was, Samar whispered, "You've never looked more beautiful to me."

And then Samar's lips were brushing against her own, softly, so softly, and Liz could feel how much she was holding back, how careful she was being, and it melted her heart – melted it until warmth had spread to every inch of her body – and she found herself parting her lips, whimpering against her mouth.

"I can't; it will hurt you," Samar reasoned, trying to stop.

But Liz reached for her, unwilling to let her escape. She shook her head, their noses bumping against each other, and then her lips found Samar's again and she kissed her back. "It's worth it," she breathed against her lips, kissing her again and again.

After a moment, Samar managed to pull herself away, just enough to lean her forehead against Liz's. "You'll be in pain if you breathe too hard."

But Liz simply replied, "I don't care," dragging Samar's lips back to her own.

When the kissing finally stopped, the pain in her ribs having grown too strong to ignore, Liz left her hand on the back of Samar's head, keeping her close. "God, I want to keep kissing you," she murmured. "How long do ribs take to heal?"

Samar snorted softly, pressing her lips to Liz's nose, then the corner of her mouth. "Trust me, I know how you feel," she whispered, nipping light as a feather at Liz's lower lip.

Liz smiled, tangling her fingers in Samar's curls, nuzzling her nose against her cheek.

After a moment, she closed her eyes, simply breathing in the scent of Samar's skin. "So, you think I can do this? Be a mother?" she asked nervously, uncertainly.

"Yes," Samar whispered instantly, her breath puffing against Liz's jaw. "I think you would be an _incredible_ mother, Elizabeth. If it's what you want."

"It's what I've always wanted," Liz confirmed quietly. "It's just- my world is so dangerous. I'm a target. Should I really bring a baby into all this? I mean, a stranger attacked me in a parking lot last night. Not exactly a recipe for parenting success."

Samar sat up, reaching for Liz's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Liz, if you want a child and you would _love_ this child, then _that_ is what matters. You can't let the fear and uncertainty stop you." She paused, studying the still-worried expression on Liz's face. "Once the news calms down, you won't get noticed as often. And you can change your hair again, make it harder for people to recognize you," she suggested.

Liz smiled, reaching up to touch Samar's face, her fingers tracing her brow, the bridge of her nose, her full lips, and then, suddenly, Samar was leaning over her once more, kissing her forehead the way she had the night before, whispering, "You won't be alone. I promise."

And then, finally, for the first time since she'd learned of her pregnancy, Liz allowed herself to simplify her muddled string of worries into one simple thought, a thought that truly did, at its root, fill her with joy: _I'm going to be a mother_.


End file.
